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Story: The Golden Gate Years
The Golden Gate Years is a collection of vignettes about the childhood of ULC agent Charlie Lang. It takes place from 2006 to the early 2020s. All short vignettes take place in San Francisco. __TOC__ Chapter One Charlie Lang’s first experience with magic was at seven years old. He would remember how on one particularly raining day in 2006, Ellsworth Elementary School, as part of a community outreach program, invited emergency service workers to the school for an assembly in order to familiarize children with the local fire department and police. A noble goal, one that would for adults mean building trust with authority figures and a brief reprieve from teaching, and for kids an excuse not to learn basic arithmetic. But unlike most children, what fascinated Charlie was not the bright red fire trucks outside, or the shiny badges of the policemen, God forbid, the typical expected displays of cops-and-robbers roleplaying in the subsequent recess after the lunch bell. “Why don’t you have a gun?” He asked, his big golden eyes looking up at the police officer’s belt, eyeing where a sidearm or at the very least a taser would be. Even at this young tender age, Charlie knew that the world wasn’t perfect. “Well, I’m a special type of police officer,” The cop said, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he squatted down from the stage. Around them the other police officers were answering questions from equally inquisitive five and six year-olds.“I don’t use the usual stuff my friends do. I use magic instead.” “Whoa,” Charlie marveled. “So you can do anything?” “Magic sounds like it’d do everything, huh?” The cop laughed, “It doesn’t, but it does come in handy and can do things the others can’t.” “Like what?” “Oh, I don’t know where to start...” The police officer says, smiling again, “I’d show you but my buddy’s showing off my wand to your friends there.” Charlie turned his fuzzy head. A few feet away from them another police officer was standing in the midst of a circle of children, supervising them as they passed something around between them, taking turns. Charlie approached, trying to squeeze his head in between a tall blonde-haired boy and pudgy kid, only to be shoved backwards. The latter thumped a mitten of sausage-like fingers into Charlie’s chest. “Go away, doggie!” “I’m not a dog!” Charlie whined. The police officer, though kind and patient, looked somewhat sternly at the two and said in a firm tone, “Both of you play nice and wait your turn. You’ll get a chance to hold the wand.” Charlie’s ears tucked and he remained quiet, trying not to upset anyone. A few minutes passed as the other kids held the wand and passed it around, a few of them bursting into raucous giggles as they waved it around and chirped ‘abracadabra’ and other playful incantations, pretending to transform each other into frogs and other ridiculous things. Cinderella, the Tooth Fairy, and even St. Nicholas himself ran the gamut of bedtime role models emulated. Then it was Charlie’s turn, as the last in line. He took the wand, taking care not to scratch it with his claws or risk getting yelled at. He marveled at the device, a long cylindrical rod with a handle and buttons on the side, and a switch. He’d seen the other kids touch the switch and flip it to no effect, and following their example, did the same. He nearly dropped the wand in surprise when a bright red light emanated from the little diagonal vents in the handle. An intense heat radiated through the wand, the same type that he’d felt when he’d burnt himself foolishly on the stove, but this time, he didn’t scream and neither did his mother. It didn’t hurt at all… it felt powerful, as if the wand was alive. “Oi, Felton!” One of the cops shouted. “Whoa, whoa.” The officer that Charlie had talked to earlier bolted over and snatched the wand away from his hands. Charlie looked bewildered, and hurt. It wasn’t fair. The other kids, pack animals they were, entered into a frenzy of whispers and dozens of pairs of eyes fell upon him. He looked ashamedly up at the man standing tall above him. “Did I do something bad?” He stammered. The police officer who owned the wand slid it into the holster on his duty belt, and shook his head, kneeling down and gently took Charlie’s paw in his hand. “Shh. No, no you didn’t. We just didn’t expect that to happen. Don’t worry, no harm’s done.” “Why’d you take it away?” “… Well,” The officer paused, and looked at the other kids nervously, unsure of what to say in front of them. “It’s not a bad thing at all, but...” He looked into Charlie’s eyes. “… You want to be a wizard when you grow up?” In 2011, Charlie was twelve years old, and standing before the smart board at the front of the classroom. In his paw he held a wooden stick, one that he carved into the shape of a magical, wand complete with handle. With the other he curled his fingers and pretended to hold an orb within his palm. “I want to be a wizard when I grow up… I want to make my own wand, and I want to use magic when I’m an adult. Maybe be on a police squad. I wanna change the world.” The class remained silent, though a few clapped. Charlie nervously gripped his the stick tighter, this time with both hands as he stammered. “And that is my career presentation.” The class clapped this time, their automatic applause echoing hollowly through the classroom. Charlie took his seat, returning to his desk and sitting down, the inner tufts of his ears pinkening very slightly. A kid on the other side of the classroom gave him a look, with a bit of an incredulous smirk on his face. As the bell chimed over the intercom and the students began filing out of the classroom to head home, Charlie slung his backpack over his shoulder, stuffing the carved wooden stick inside. He approached the teacher, who was grading the rubrics for the class presentations at her desk. After standing there quietly and watching the door thud shut after the last student in the classroom, he looked to her. “So… Mrs. Garham. How do you think I did?” “An interesting presentation,” the teacher said, looking down at him and adjusting her glasses. “… But it could’ve used a little more effort.” “More effort?” Charlie asked, his ears lowering. “You just brought a stick to class. Most students bring something that is related to a more relevant field of work,” she explained. “You have to be bit more realistic.” “But it is realistic,” Charlie protested. “I can do magic.” “Some people can, but it’s a very low portion of the population and I don’t think magic is going to do the things that you think it can,” the teacher replied. “You’re not going to ride dragons or get into those magic fights you have on the playground… you have to grow up a bit and realize that some things aren’t going to be happening when you’re an adult. I’ve never heard of an Anthro-feralis wizard. I think that you should’ve put a little more thought into your project.” “But… I’ve spent… I’ve been thinking for...” Charlie swallows, and wipes the back of his paw against his eyes, his tail curling as his ears lowered and his muzzle trembled. The teacher opened her mouth to say something, but Charlie had already turned. The classroom door slammed against its frame as the red panda’s ringed tail vanished down the hallway beyond the glass. “Charlie!” He avoided the main entrance way, instead exiting the school through a side door. Despite this measure, Charlie nevertheless encountered the very person he had taken the detour to avoid. He felt himself being slammed against the concrete wall, the backpack ripped off his back. There was a loud snap as something inside cracked and broke into two. Charlie screamed. “No!” “Raccoons can’t change the world, dumbass,” the face invading his space hissed. Charlie struggled as the bully pressed him against the bricks, feeling their cold and rough surface grind into his back through his shirt. Other students leaving the school slowed down, some stopping in order to watch what was happening before them. “I’m n-not a raccoon...” He protested. The correction was interpreted as a defiant smart-ass remark, and was of course punished. Charlie’s eyes stung as a hand slammed into the side of his snout, stinging his wet nose. Tears leaked down his cheeks. The bully, the same boy that had stared at him across the classroom, laughed and grabbed the red panda’s hand, twisting his wrist painfully. “… I don’t care what you are. You’re not one of us, and you better not forget that. We should’ve kept you as slaves, so we didn’t have to pay for you to go to school!” “I have a right to go to school!” Charlie hissed. “… I’m an American.” This resulted in laughter from the bully and a few of his nearby supporters. “… You? Anthro-feralis aren’t Americans. You’ll never be. Go back to Australia and be a wizard. Leave the rest of us and the world alone, snoutface. My father’s a congressman. He’ll help pass a law that kick fleabags like you out of the country.” He let go of Charlie, as he saw a teacher coming out of the front entrance to investigate the gathering of students, not wishing to be caught in the act. He jerked him forward. “… Leave. And if you say anything to the principal or Mrs. Garham, I’m going to rip that tail off. And wizards are cool… you’re not, so forget that gay-ass idea.” Charlie left, tears streaming down his eyes as he grabbed his backpack and took off down the road, hoping that the bright hot sun would dry his tears before he got home. Hours later, Charlie lay curled up on his bed, soaking his pillow with his tears. Outside, his father stood by his door, rubbing his arm and not quite knowing what to say. He was about to turn and leave in hopes of letting Charlie tiring himself out and feeling better in the morning, when his wife limped up the stairs. “Emily...” Hank, the older red panda said. “You should be in bed.” “Let me talk to him.” The door to Charlie’s room opened. Emily grimaced a little as she took a seat on the foot of her son’s bed, and looked toward him, reaching out a hand to stroke his fuzzy back. “Hey. It’s gonna be okay.” “They all think that I’m… they called me a fleabag.” His muffed voice blurred through the thickness of the drenched pillow. “Did they now?” She said, smiling. Charlie sniffed, sitting up in bed and turning to face her. He rubbed his eyes, pulling the blankets tight over his legs and shivering. “Y-yeah.” “Well, the truth is, the world is always full of people who hate other people for no good reason,” Emily said gently. “It’s been a long and hard road for people like us, and it’s always going to be hard. The truth is, it’s a battle that we’re going to always have to fight.” There was a moment of silence as Emily moved closer to Charlie, and leaned against the wall, pulling her son closer into an embrace, wrapping her fuzzy arms and tail around him, kissing him on the cheek. “… I lost...” Charlie sniffled. “You didn’t. You didn’t today, and you won’t tomorrow, and you won’t, ever. You don’t lose until the moment you give up. As long as you keep standing and don’t stay down on the ground when they tell you, then you haven’t lost.” She says. At that, with a trembling paw, she took something from behind from behind her back. “You were chosen to be a wizard for a reason. And I think that reason is so that you could do great things when you’re all grown up. So don’t let anyone stop you.” In her paw she held Charlie’s carved toy wand, the telltale seam of clear glue, barely visible, holding the two halves of the wand together. A smile through the tears appeared on Charlie’s face, as he took the wand, looking at it briefly before placing it on his bedside table and leaning in to squeeze her in a hug. “… I love you.” “I love you too, sweetheart...” As Charlie finally drifted off to sleep and the lights were turned out, Emily gently shutting it behind her as she emerged from her son’s room. She looked to her husband, who just gaped at her in awe, an expression of admiration on his face. “… I don’t know how you do it. I really don’t.” “… It’s how a mother should be.” She smiled, though she looked tired. Hank gently took her by the arm. “C’mon, let’s get you back in bed. God knows you need the rest. I can make some honey tea or something to keep you warm.” “I’d prefer you.” She smiled. In 2013, the Anti-Anthro act was passed. Fourteen-year old Charlie was among many in the school who witnessed the announcement on the morning news. That day, the United States Congress had begun to fulfill the very actions that he had been threatened with two years ago; America had closed all of its borders to immigrants from Australia, but specifically only non-humanoid immigrants. In other words, people like him. People who were not human enough. After the morning bell had rung to signal the start of first period, his homeroom teacher turned on the television, which was broadcasting an address from President Michael Rivers. “Why are we seeing this?” Charlie asked. The eighth grade teacher, an elderly lady with white curls and narrow glasses, looked up towards him through the glass screen of her desktop monitor. “It is good to stay updated on current events, Charles. It is related to our discussion in American History today, which you might understand if you’ve done your homework. And I think that someone like you should be paying very close attention.” “What’s that supposed to mean?” “Please be quiet until it’s finished.” Charlie looked toward the flatscreen in the corner of the room. “The United States has a determined interest in protecting her borders,” President Rivers said, adjusting his gray suit momentarily as he stood at his podium, the seal of the White House behind him. “Due to current concerns over Anthro-feralis individuals being potential vectors for trans-species diseases and escalated fears that certain sub-types may be highly aggressive, I am preparing to move forward with legislation that will prevent further anthro immigrants from Australia. This administration is committed to protecting our citizens. I will now take questions.” As the members of the press drowned out the audio on the screen, Charlie felt multiple pairs of eyes look in his direction. He tucked his head downwards, not wanting to make eye contact. His fingers twitched repetitively under his desk, as he fumbled with them. The screen turned off. They spent the period discussing immigration and divided into debate teams to discuss the pros and cons of the Anti-Anthro Act. Charlie kept staring at his desk, and when his classmates turned to him and asked what he thought, he couldn’t answer. As he walked home later that day, his backpack sagged on his shoulders, barely hanging on by a single strap looped under his arm. He passed through the streets of the town, taking a detour from the suburbs where his house was in order to enter the doors of the candy shop on the corner. The old man, Frank, who ran the shop, looked over as a dollar bill was placed onto the counter by a fuzzy black paw. He looked over and smiled a little at the regular customer standing in his shop. “Hey Charlie. How was school today?” “Not good,” Charlie huffed. His ears tucked backwards. “Well, I know what’ll cheer you up,” Frank said, and reached up to grab one of Charlie’s favorite candies, green apple Fizzle Gummy Pops. He handed the sweet to the red panda, watching as Charlie unwrapped its packaging and licked it, seeming to restore some of his energy. “There you go. So why’d you have a bad day? You know you can talk to me.” “The stuff on the news,” Charlie sighed, climbing up onto the bar stool and resting his arms atop of the counter, and then his head. “… They wanna stop people like me from coming into the country.” “Mm. That’s right,” Frank said, stacking boxes of chocolate bars and putting them into a cabinet nearby. He looked over briefly at the morning’s paper of the San Francisco Chronicle, a moving image of President Rivers at a press conference dominating its front page. “Seems like that’s what they think is best.” “Why?” “Because even adults can be stupid, Charlie. Don’t ever forget that,” Frank said. “Some people are afraid of what they don’t understand, or worse, think they understand something without really knowing anything about it. And that makes them very dangerous.” “… What if they’re right though?” Frank shrugged. “Well, I haven’t seen anything that makes me think that they’re right.” “We had a debate in class. About the pros and cons of what they wanna do,” Charlie said miserably. “I couldn’t come up with anything about why they’re good. And they came up with a bunch of stuff about why they’re bad. Because we- they’re different. Like we sometimes have sharp teeth, or are hairy or...” “None of which are actually any real reasons to stop people like you from coming into the country. They just don’t like how you look? That’s not a real reason,” Frank says, leaning down on the counter in front of the fourteen-year old. “I can think of a real reason why we should let anthros in, Charlie. This entire country’s been built on people from all over the world. Everyone of us is different, and it’s the differences that make America one of the best countries on Earth.” Charlie looked up. “By stopping people like that, they stop all those wonderful different cultures and people from coming in, and we miss out on it. They think they’re protecting us, but they’re making us lose. Like I said, adults are stupid. You though? You’re a smart kid, and smarter than all these politicians, I can tell already,” Frank said. He smiled. “R-really?” Charlie said, his ears perking up as he lifted himself off the counter. “T-thanks.” “… Why don’t we pretend you’ve paid me already, mm? Spend that dollar on something nice today,” Frank said, heading to the register. He smiled and grinned at the kid. “.. Little secret between us. I won’t tell if you won’t.” Charlie arrived home. He thumped his backpack down on the bench in the foyer and headed into the kitchen, opening the fridge and rummaging in it for an apple and a cheese-stick. He sat down on their modest kitchen table, unwrapping the cheese stick and gobbling it down before starting on the table. But just as he was about bite into it, he heard the piano playing in the living room. He put the apple down and stood up, padding softly into the living room. Sunlight was streaming in through the opened curtains, and his mother was sitting in front of the ebony vertical piano, her paws playing a song with dexterity that surprised him. He stood in the doorway watching, before the song ended and she turned around in her seat. She smiled. “Charlie.” “Mom,” Charlie grinned a little. “You’re playing again?” “Might as well enjoy life, huh?” She said, and patted the bench next to her for him to sit down. Charlie approached, and sat, carefully moving aside the tubing for her oxygen tank and draping it between them as he sat on her left side. Remembering the dollar that Frank had given back, he reached into his pocket and gave it to his mom. “What’s that, sweetheart?” “Money. I think that it should be yours, for your medicine. It’s not a lot but I know we’re having some trouble with money, ‘cause the hospital’s expensive and stuff.” “Oh Charlie,” Emily smiled, and kissed him. “You hold onto that. It’s yours. Don’t worry about me, okay?” “Okay,” Charlie noddled. “What’s the song?” “Counting Stars. It came out last year… I’m surprised you haven’t heard it by now. You kids are always latching onto the latest thing.” Charlie shrugged. “Guess not.” “… You want to play with me?” “I’m not very good,” Charlie mumbled. “That doesn’t matter. It’s what in your heart that matters,” Emily said. She smiled, and taking his hands in hers, gently placed them over his side of the piano. “This song sounds okay with only one person. But it’d sound great with the background beats and rhythm. It’d be finally complete if you played it with me too.” Charlie nodded, and leaned up to kiss his mother’s cheek. Emily smiled softly and rubbed his headfur, petting his ears back. “Let’s do it.” “Okay,” Charlie said, and rested his fingers on the keys. He looked at the notes, struggling to keep up with his mother as she started to song. He missed several keys, and looked at her worriedly, afraid that he would screw up the song. But she just smiled. “… Keep playing, Charlie.” He continued, still struggling. But soon enough, he managed to follow along on the piano sheet, and missed only one key. They continued playing, and soon enough, Emily began to sing. Lately, I've been, I've been losing sleep Dreaming about the things that we could be But baby, I've been, I've been praying hard Said no more counting dollars We'll be counting stars Yeah, we'll be counting stars Chapter Two The seasons passed. Charlie became more and more of a teenager, growing taller, his shoulders becoming broader as he slowly transformed from a child into an adult. Though the young Anthro-feralis grew stronger, his mother grew weaker. There eventually came a day on on his 16th birthday, where instead of going out with his friends as planned to see Interstellar, he instead went to San Francisco General Hospital. He walked into the room, his fingers weakly clutching the string of a balloon as it floated above him, thwapping the top of the door frame as he entered his mother’s hospital room. “...Mom?” “My little sweet apple slice...” a weak voice came from the bed. Charlie swallowed, tears brimming in his eyes as she approached. He felt a hand close around his, squeezing it. Emily looked feeble and her fur no longer was deep red and vibrant, becoming desaturated and faded as her strength drained away. She looked up at him, her dry nose struggling to pull in oxygen from the tubes around her snout. As the vital signs monitors beeped in the background, she used her hand to pull Charlie toward her, so that he was now at her bedside and looking down at her. There was a moment of quietness as the two looked at each other, and Charlie’s fingers let go of the balloon, letting it float towards the ceiling and stay there. In the corner of the room, Hank sat slumped, watching his wife quietly, saying nothing as he stared at the floor. “Will I… see you in the morning?” He trembled. Emily looked up at him with saddened eyes, her grip on his paw tightening. “… Not this time, Charlie. This is the worst birthday present I could’ve given you, and I’m sorry for that--” Charlie interrupted, leaning in and hugging her tightly, tears beginning to spill out of his eyes. “No, no, don’t you dare say that...” “… Shh. It’s not how I would’ve liked your birthday to go. I’m in the end stages. I don’t have very long to give you your present.” She said weakly, as she reached underneath the blankets for something beside her. Charlie cried, his defenses breaking down. “… No. Not now, now’s not the time for that. Mom, this is…” “It’s time when I say it’s time,” she coughed. Still holding his hand, she lifted her other hand out of her covers, showing him his present. A small silver cylinder glinted in the light, the thick glass tube forming its body filled with a crimson, translucent liquid. “That’s...” “You know what it is.” She smiled. “Red matter. You’re the wizard studying magic. You know what to do with much more than I do… there’s more than enough here to make a wand. A real one.” “But how?” He says, looking into her eyes, trembling. “… Your chemotherapy treatments. You’ve been using the money to--” “It can’t be stopped. Not anymore.” She says, reaching up her hand to stroke his wet cheeks. “Take it. It’s yours.” Charlie took the Red Matter canister. As he held it in his paw, the same searing heat he felt nine years ago radiated through his fingers, as energy flowed through his forearm, the surge of magical power vibrating through his veins. The liquid within the canister glowed, casting a warm red light over the bed sheets and his mother’s smiling face. “I told you that you’re gonna do great things when you’re grown up. You go do them… have you lost yet?” “No. I haven’t. Not yet.” Charlie said, swallowing a lump in his throat as he held the canister, which glowed between them. “And I won’t.” “I’m so glad I had you while I could. I’m out of time, but you still have so much left. You’re going to go on adventures, and you’re going to make it without me. All of that starts….” She says, tapping the glass tube containing the magical material with a clink of her claws. “… Right now. Don’t let anyone hold you back.” Charlie lurked atop the roof of the hospital, looking out over San Francisco bay. The chilly night air brushed through his fur as he stood alone, sitting atop a dormant air conditioning unit. He sat quietly, his hands in his lap atop of it, watching the lights of the city. He sighed, as he turned his head towards the figure walking behind him. Hank approached, hands in his pockets. “There you are.” “Hi Dad,” Charlie murmured. Hank walked over and stood by him, before he sat down on the AC unit beside his son. “… You know. You’re hard to find. Always sneaking around. You’ve done that since you were little. I don’t think we’re supposed to be here.” “W-wanted to be alone. I climbed up the wall of the courtyard and onto the roof.” “Oh,” Hank said. The two of them sat in silence. Neither of them said anything for a while, both of them simply staring at the concrete beneath their feet. Neither of them touched each other, both of them blankly looking into the distance. “Mom’s gone.” Charlie mumbled quietly, finally breaking the silence after several minutes. He slowly reached into his pocket, and a glowing red light began to illuminate his hoodie’s pocket and the underside of his snout as the magical material activated as it came into contact with his hand. He gazed at it, its crimson light reflected in his eyes. “She shouldn’t have done it.” “It’s what she wanted,” Hank said. “… She was going to suffer anyways. Everyone, especially her, knew that. It’s better this way—” “You sound like you don’t believe that,” Charlie muttered. There was another moment where silence rudely cut between them. Hank’s eyes narrowed a bit as his mouth pulled back, momentarily exposing his teeth, as if about to snap at him or growl a retort. Charlie’s fur stood on end, realizing what he’d done. He stuffed the canister back into his pocket. But just as he was about to apologize, Hank’s expression relaxed. There was no longer anger, but the older red panda’s countenance now only showed signs of weariness; the bags and frazzled fur underneath them becoming more prominent as he spoke again. “I’m not going to pretend that I understand you as much as she did,” he said. “But I loved your mother. And I know it doesn’t seem like it sometimes, but I love you. So much… she always said you had a gift. She died believing that. Please promise me that you’ll make her happy.” Charlie’s lip trembled. “C’mere, Charlie,” Hank murmured softly. Charlie said nothing, and sighed, standing up and shoving his hands into his hoodie. He looked out at the skyline and folded his arms. In the distance, a dark, towering shape loomed on the other side of the Golden Gate Bridge near Horseshoe Bay. Though he couldn’t see the bay itself, this anomaly in the skyline was tall enough to peek above the hilly city. Orange construction cranes rose up high into the sky alongside it, lights around the stone building making it appear as a white pillar rising above the dark horizon. “That’s the Coalition building, isn’t it.” “Yeah. They’ve finished topping it out,” Hank said, standing up and walking next to him with his hands in his pockets again. Charlie looked out across the cityscape, closing his eyes and feeling the soft cool wind on his fuzzy cheeks. “Don’t they have wizards on their force?” “I believe so.” “Then that’s where I think I’ll go. I think that’s what Mom would’ve wanted,” Charlie says, and turns to look at his father. He lifts his head, looking into his eyes with steeled resolve. “I’ll make her happy.” Hank gave a single nod, and then pulled Charlie close to his chest. The teenager initially resisted, moving to break the embrace and wrench himself away, but then stopped himself. He decided to let himself fall against his father’s chest, and soon enough, brushed his head and ears deeply against the underside of his father’s snout. “I love you,” Hank whispered. “Don’t forget that. Charlie watched the night sky as they embraced. “… I love you too, Dad. And I promise. I won’t.” In 2017, Charlie attended San Francisco State University. It was the first day, his first semester as a college student, and he had grown into a young adult, now eighteen years old. He wore a plaid white and light blue button-up shirt with rolled-up sleeves, underneath a gray hoodie, and dark jeans. He slung his laptop bag underneath his arm as he walked the halls of the Department of Mystic Arts. Reaching the top of the stairwell, he reached the topmost floor of the building, and proceed down the hallway. He looked down at the already-crumpled sheet of paper that was his schedule, and then up at the plaque by the door he stood in front of. The numbers were the same: Arlin Hall, Room 934. He entered the classroom and took a seat at one of the desks, careful to tuck his tail around himself tightly to avoid it being tangled or stepped on. He opened his laptop, launching his office program in preparation to take notes. As he did, he took a look at his surroundings. The classroom was smaller than he had thought, and though it had a slanted floor much like a lecture hall, it was nowhere the size, able to fit maybe about fifty people. Even fewer occupied those seats, the classroom’s student capacity only half-filled. He settled in. Then the classroom doors thudded open and closed as a figure walked into the room. A man with mousy brown hair, thin mustache and premature age lines carved upon his face stepped in. He wore a shabby looking tweed jacket with brown patches over his elbows. As he walked in, he reached into the inside of his coat pocket and drew out a stained, aged-looking wooden wand. He flicked it in the air as he walked, causing the blinds over the windows to lower by themselves and snap their shutters shut. He stepped over the lecturer’s podium and waved it at the computer console once, turning it on along with the screen at the center of the classroom. “Good morning,” the man said. “I am Professor James Hendelsworth. I will be your instructor for Introduction to Magic, or INTM-100.” He flicked his wand to the side and then held it with both hands, while the keys on the keyboard at the lecturer’s podium moved by themselves, his name being typed out on the notepad on the desktop as he scanned the classroom, eyes flitting to each student. The class remained quiet, a few students stunned at the display of magic, not having seen a wizard before in their lives and simply staring at him. Hendelsworth chuckled. “I suppose that was a good introduction to magic, then. But believe me, those of you who go down this career path will get quite used to it being an everyday occurrence.” “I’d like to ask a question,” Hendelsworth said. “Why are you here?” One student raised her hand, and Hendelsworth nodded towards her. She cleared her throat. “We’re here to learn about magic and how to become trained wizards.” “Correct to a point,” Hendelsworth replied. “Though only a select few people are capable of being wizards. Are you a wizard?” “… I don’t believe so,” she said. “… I’m not exactly sure if I’m capable of using Areum. I might not even be able to.” “And therein lies the problem,” Hendelsworth said, tapping his wand gently against his hand as he paced the floor in front of his class. “So why are you even here, if you can’t even do magic?” “… Excuse me?” The young woman asked, her eyebrows raising as her voice became incredulous. There were a few whispers throughout the classroom. Charlie leaned back in his seat. “Why are you here if you won’t be a wizard?” Hendelsworth pressed again. “Don’t think about the implications that I might or not be making, you just met me a minute ago. You don’t know what’s going through my head. But you do know what is going through yours… so why are you here, even though you may not be a wizard?” “I want to learn about how magic works,” She said slowly, “I think it’s important to understand the magical arts so that we can use our knowledge to help and to interact with people who are capable of being wizards. It’s a huge part of our society and always has been. We have to accept and not only understand it, but maybe use our knowledge to our advantage.” “Now that,” Hendelsworth said, smiling, “Is the exact answer that I’m looking for. Even if you are not a wizard, you should understand the basics of how magic works, for the very reasons she outlined. Very good… Fizzle Gummy Pop or Kit-Kat?” “Kit-Kat.” Hendelsworth flicked his wand, and a small candy bar in a red wrapper flew from a bag from underneath the podium and clattered onto her desk. She let out a squeak and then giggled before grabbing it and opening the wrapper, as several students broke into applause. Hendelsworth turned and folded his hands together as he addressed the class from the front of the room. “So. Who has their textbooks?” Charlie raised his hand, along with one other student. “Ah, good. I didn’t expect anyone to have theirs. Be sure to get it by Friday. Fundamentals of Magic, 15th edition by Katherine Chandler…. I was going to read from mine, but,” He gestured toward Charlie. “What’s your name?” “Charlie Lang, sir,” he said. “Charlie,” Hendelsworth repeated, smiling slightly. “Well Charlie, why don’t you take it out and turn to page 394 for me, and read the first paragraph at the top. I’ll put my copy on the screen for everyone to follow.” Another student looked up and stared at the screen. “I thought that we’d be opening spell-books and studying ancient runes.” “Ancient texts are quite beautiful and steeped in centuries of tradition, but for educational purposes they’re quite inferior to a simple textbook you can get at the college bookstore,” Hendelsworth snorted, as he flipped open his own textbook, placing it underneath the document camera. “That said, they are quite fascinating if you’re an anthropologist or historian, and I believe Leonard Library has an actual one that is several hundred years old that you can view, but of course, not check out.” “And runic symbols?” “Likewise, runes were simply words that people read and chanted out loud to focus on doing magic, or in essence, shortcuts to carry out spells, personally not a habit I am fond of teaching,” He looked to Charlie. “Go ahead.” Charlie nodded, and looked down at the page, taking a breath before reading. “Magic, simply put, is an observed phenomena that allows certain individuals to bend the rules of science and reality to a limited degree for a temporary period of time. Magical energy bypasses natural laws and can only be harnessed by few individuals..” “Temporary,” Hendelsworth emphasized. “… Temporary. Magic has the power to shift things, but it cannot break the laws of nature. Only bend it temporarily. Energy is required to initiate change, and as soon as that energy runs out, reality and science reasserts itself. Continue, Charlie.” Charlie slid his claw along the lines of text. As he began, Hendelsworth walked over to the smart board display and flicked his wand, lines of text appearing on the screen that highlighted capitalized the key words as bullet points. Charlie continued. “Channeling, controlling and directing magical energy from subspace also requires specific intent. Wizards must have an understanding of exactly what they want to do, and concentrate mentally on making those changes with their magic. Complex and advanced magic requires an understanding of scientific principles in order to practice advanced fields such as Alchemy, Biomancy and Technomancy.” “All of which are 300 level classes,” Hendelsworth remarked. “And quite hands on too, regrettably to the detriment of non-magical people who could really use the information they teach. Which one would you like, Charlie?” “Do you have green apple Fizzle Gummy Pop?” Hendelsworth beamed and clasped his hands behind his back, flicking his wand. Charlie grinned as the candy soared out of the desk drawer. He lifted his arm, and caught it in his fingers, before tearing apart the green wrapper. “Good job. That’s a good place to begin the basics. We’re going to start off with a discussion about channeling devices, and then we’ll hand out and go over the syllabus...” Winter came. Charlie stood underneath the overcast and pouring sky, a black umbrella gripped in his paw as he looked towards the tombstone from afar. A mourning family stood in front of it, huddled together in a black mass as they watched a white casket be lowered slowly into the ground. He stood a distance away from them, keeping out of their sight. The rain was pattering off the fabric of the umbrella, and droplets trickled down onto his face and shoulders from the overwhelming downpour. He remained watching the tombstone even as the family left, leaving the fresh six feet of dirt over the casket to soak in the rain, the flowers slowly becoming soggy and disintegrating in the puddles of rainwater accumulating about. As he turned to leave himself, a figure stepped out from behind one of the trees of the forest he was standing at the edge of. “Who are you?” “Someone who is leaving,” Charlie said, and began to turn to head back onto the dirt trail leading back into the depths of the forest behind the cemetery. “Wait. Don’t go.” He stopped. “I saw you and I’ve been watching. You’re dressed in a suit and tie. A nice one at that,” the figure said, stepping forward, himself wearing his own dark three-piece suit with a soaked, withering rose in his breast pocket. “… You came to see him. I’m not angry, I’m not accusing. I just want to know why.” “… I wasn’t invited.” Charlie said softly. “I don’t really imagine that someone like me would be welcome at the memorial service.” “And yet you still came. Who are you?” Charlie looked at the man standing before him, who had blond hair and blue eyes. His own golden eyes met them, and his paw’s grip on his umbrella tightened. “My name is Charlie Lang.” A look of realization seemingly washed over the man’s face. The man extended his hand. “I’m Daniel Whitaker, his grandson. Grandpa Frank always kept talking about an Anthro-feralis kid that would come to his shop all the time. He’d always be telling stories about how he’d help you with homework sometimes and stuff like that. You’re… him, aren’t you?” Charlie nodded. “It means a lot that you came.” “He was there for me when a lot of people, even my own dad, weren’t. The least I could do was to come and pay my respects,” Charlie said quietly. “I think he would’ve liked to have me here.” “I think Grandpa Frank wouldn’t have wanted you to stand out here in the cold, though,” Daniel replied. “Come on. The procession is about to leave. Why don’t you have dinner at our house? We’d love to meet you.” “...I can’t.” Charlie said. “I’d be imposing.” “Nonsense. I’m sure that we’d have a lot to talk about. You look like you’re starving and could use something to eat.” “I really can’t,” Charlie insisted. “I’m sorry. I don’t think it’s appropriate for me to come.” “I understand,” Daniel nodded, frowning a little. He stayed wordless for several moments, then finally said, “I suppose you’d at least want to visit the grave properly instead of being at the sidelines. Come on. We’ve got some time.” The two of them entered the cemetery, their black shoes becoming streaked with mud and grime as they walked through the wet earth between the seemingly never ending rows of tombstones, the crosses, names and inscriptions barely visible in the growing fog. They stopped at the fresh patch of earth before the marble slab. FRANK WHITAKER 1928-2017 He took the sunrise, sprinkled it with dew Covered it in chocolate And a miracle or two He made the world taste good. “Will everyone I care about… just leave?” Charlie finally said after what seemed like an eon of excruciating, empty silence passed, eroding away their surroundings. Only he, Daniel, and the headstone remained. Tears were streaking down his muzzle. Daniel bit his lip, and put his hand on his shoulder, gripping it tightly. “… I’m afraid so.” In the distance, ignition keys turned. The rumble of engines interrupted the gentle trickle of rainwater as hot exhaust mixed with the frigid air. Daniel’s hand opened and released. He looked to Charlie as he began to head towards the convoy of cars preparing to leave. “Take care of yourself, Charlie. Alright?” “… I will.” His eyes pierced as they bore into the engraved marble before him. “That won’t do. When there is something wrong with the universe, you fix it.” He entered his apartment later that night, peeling off his soaked clothes and hanging them up over the bathtub. He lived in a small cramped house with his roommate off the edge of campus, sharing the cramped living space with him. As he dried off and made his way through the kitchen and into the garage, he entered the one room that was his. The basement. It was the only place where he could be free from his roommate's obsession with neatness. The basement, with its concrete walls and warm stringed lights hanging from the girders in the ceiling, was where he kept his workbench, a beanbag chair, mini-fridge, and his desk. Underneath the workbench was a safe. He gritted his teeth as his claws scrabbled for the rotary dial, moving the indicator to several numbers. “Zero-three. Ten… Fifteen.” The locking mechanism disengaged. He swung open the heavy safe door, and inside was a small case. He took it out, placing it upon the workbench, unlocking the clasps and swinging its lid open. Inside the case was the vial of Areum. He took it out, and gave a determined look at the canister as his hands closed around it. The red matter glowed, the heat returning. Chapter Three Charlie worked. Over the next few days, drawings began to clutter the desk, papers scattered over its surface, each one showing different designs for the project he had in mind. He rolled out the largest sheet over the others by the end of the weekend, which showed the schematics for a wand, to be made with the core of red matter that his mother had given him. He checked out books at Leonard Library. His backpack was filled with books on wandlore and magical channeling devices, some of them meant for upper year students, but he didn’t care. He had waited long enough, and he was determined. Day after day of classes went by. He raised his hand often, and whenever Hendelsworth called upon him, he answered. Other times he took careful notes, scribbling them rapidly as the professor progressed through the power points. He stayed after class. Slinging his bag behind him he appeared to at first leave with the other students for the door, but instead walked to the podium. “Professor? Do you have a few moments? I’ve been reading ahead.” At that, Hendelsworth glanced up from his computer, looking delighted. At home, he typed rapidly on the keyboard of his laptop, using the internet for any and all resources he could find. The books were a start, but weren’t enough. The nights were long, and he would spend many of them flipping through the pages of books, sucking the information out of them with his intense golden eyes while his jaws consumed Fizzle Pop after Fizzle Pop. The light-bulb of his desk lamp burned beside him as he cradled his head with an arm. Days turned into weeks. They passed rapidly, and as they did, the pages of the textbooks kept turning. His desktop became cluttered, the number of documents almost obscuring the background picture, which was the schematic of the wand design he had drawn up. A photo of Emily was taped to the side of his computer. The librarian jolted slightly in her seat as a stack of yet more magical textbooks thudded onto her desk. Charlie looked at her, his ears perking upward as he grinned sheepishly. In Introduction to Magic, Charlie’s hand snapped up to catch another Fizzle Gummy Pop, almost reflexively. He placed it down, where it joined the others on the edge of his desk. Weeks turned into months. Charlie’s eyes swept over a copy of Modern Materials Engineering as he sat in the Student Union Building’s food court, sipping a cup of coffee. At home, his hands moved his t-square furiously over the art-board on his desk, the protractor and triangle whooshing over the paper, calipers clicking as the measured the design coming to life on the blueprint paper, the book laying open beside him. Winter came. At breakfast with a pop-tart jammed into his mouth, Charlie flipped through the course catalog for the upcoming semester. Circles were already drawn around the next level magic classes, specifically over the sections taught by Hendelsworth. On a sheet of paper nearby, all of the required components were listed. He growled as ran his claws through his headfur, looking at the total estimated cost scribbled and circled at the bottom. He grabbed the morning’s newspapers, and looked through the classifieds. A sharpie squeaked as it marked a circle around a job opening at a nearby coffee shop. His keyboard clicked and clacked as he began hammering out his resume. He swiped open his phone, accessing his photo gallery and a blurry snapshot of a flier advertising the university’s robotics club. It would work perfectly, as it would help him further his studying in preparation to complete his project… and more importantly allow him access into the engineering building’s laser and cutting room, where the computer numerical control machine was located. Months turned into years. They passed slowly but surely. Charlie spent as much time as he could, obsessed with making progress on his project and leaving little time for much else, determined to fulfill his promise. As long as he did not give up, he did not fail. Not yet. It was what he reminded himself on the nights when he became frustrated and tore up papers and yelled at the walls, and on the days when felt glum and unable to power through. But every time, he found the strength to resume work. Steam blew from the espresso machine as Charlie filled a cup of coffee and called out the name scrawled on the side of the cup. Sparks flickered as he touched wires together on his workbench, testing circuits. His hands flew across his aging, scuffed laptop, keys clicking as its screen generated and rendered a 3D model in preparation for manufacturing, his tongue poking out of his muzzle. At the door, he handed back the stylus to the postman, trading it for a large brown package, oofing as he heaved it up with his arms. Late at night in the engineering lab, Charlie folded his arms, goggles over his eyes as he watched the CNC machine, its drill bits and robotic arms buzzing away layers upon layers, reducing the block of expensive Areum-enhanced titanium alloy to the shapes that made up the different sections of his wand, drilling holes and slots into them. He pulled up the blueprints in his modeling software, and smirked as the machine whirred and worked. It was 2020, five years after Emily’s death. Charlie and his father stood on the boardwalk of Aquatic Park Cove, jutting out of the waterfront that looked out into the Golden Gate. Both of them held a beer in hand, looking up at the night sky and the illuminated crimson suspension bridge stretching across the water. They didn’t say much, but for Charlie, being alone together in itself was enough. The two of them leaned together on the rails. Hank sighed slowly as he sniffed at the night air. Charlie took a sip from his bottle, smacking his snout and licking the side of it. “How is it?” His father asked, turning to him. “Not really all that’s cracked up to be,” Charlie shrugged, glancing at the bottle and turning it over in his hand. “When I was younger I thought that finally getting old enough to drink might be one of the most exciting things… but drinking yeast that’s gone bad kinda sucks... No offense. I appreciate the gesture though.” Hank chuckled, taking another swig out of his. “It’s an acquired taste. Happy 21.” “Seems like I won’t acquire it,” Charlie smirked. He sighed a little, putting the bottle down on the grass by his side and crossing his arms. “And thanks. Sometimes I worry that I might be like that.” “Like what?” “Like beer. Not all that was expected to be.” “Why would you say something like that?” Hank looked to his son, the white spots above his eyes lifting up. “Don’t be ridiculous. You’ve got good grades and a direction in life. You know where you’re going. That’s good enough for me. Don’t feel that you’ve got to make yourself some celebrity or dammit, some sort of god, just to impress someone who’s already impressed.” “Thanks,” Charlie said, his ears turning pink as he blushed a little. “… But I meant that promise I made. That you made me make.” “Five years ago,” Hank murmured. “To the day, no less.” “I haven’t forgotten,” Charlie nodded. “I think you’re doing just fine. But you have to realize that I was running on raw emotion when I said that,” Hank said. “… It wasn’t fair to make you promise something like that. Especially when you were still a kid who just lost his mother.” “You don’t want me to make her happy?” Charlie questioned. “No. I just…” Hank sighed. “… Don’t forget to build your own world for yourself and make yourself happy. That’s why she gave you the Areum. So you could do with it whatever you wanted. The point was that as long as you’re happy and make life something that you enjoy, then that’s what really matters. Okay?” Charlie nodded. Hank looked into his son’s eyes for a few moments, and then turned his head to look back out the bay. He snorted. “You still want to be a wizard, don’t you?” “I don’t know what much else I’d be,” Charlie admitted. He too gazed outward at the bay. The night wind rippled through his headfur and the fur on his neck as he caught sight of the Phoenix Complex in the distance, by the bay on the far end of the Golden Gate Bridge. The building towered like it did five years ago, now completed and the facilities around it operational. A ''Citadel-''class aerial battleship could be seen slowly lifting off from one of the massive drydocks built in and around Horeshoe Bay, its clusters of engines glowing bright orange, casting radiant burning light upon the massive wings they were mounted on. Charlie watched as as the aircraft ascended vertically upwards out of the dock, a feat possible only due the magical technology installed aboard, and wizards crewing it. The huge ship slowly extended its vertical rudder, swinging it down into position underneath her hull as it began to ponderously bank away from the complex and out towards the Pacific Ocean. Charlie gazed at it. Hank stood by him, crossing his fuzzy arms atop the railing. “There it goes.” Charlie peered back towards the central white skyscraper that dominated Horseshoe Bay by the bridge. His eyes fixed upon the United Liberators Coalition’s logo on the side of the monolith; a phoenix, with its wings outstretched, sharp beak turned to its side, and long tail feathers jutting out sharply below it. Three stars were emblazoned upon its chest. “I wanted to be a wizard when I grew up,” Charlie began. Memories of his childhood came flooding back. His presentation in Ms. Garahm’s class, his mother presenting him with the fixed toy wand, Frank chuckling as the young Charlie pretended to cast a spell, the canister of Red Matter glowing powerfully within his palm as it was handed to him by his mother’s weakened, IV-plugged arm. Charlie stood up straight to his full height, looking at the white tower in the distance and then back at his father. “And that hasn’t changed. I’m done losing the people I love. If there is a way to stop it, I’m going to find it.” Sparks continued to fly. Charlie worked at his desk, wearing black gloves over his hands as smoke wafted into the air, his soldering gun joining circuits and wires together. He tightened the vice grip on his workbench, gritting his teeth as he lined up the components. Wearing googles, he carefully extracted the Areum from its original canister and ran it through clear plastic tubing, gingerly depressing the plunger on the syringe attached to the other end of the canister to provide positive pressure in order to force the substance into the wand’s core. He watched as the elongated reinforced metal rod at the center of the under-construction wand became charged, the notches turning red as it became replete with Areum. “Core loaded,” Charlie gritted his teeth, and then exhaled with a sigh of relief. Not one precious drop of it was spilled. He began carefully sealing the newly loaded chamber tightly with sealant and several tight twists of the cap at the end, before soldering its seams shut. By the next day, he had sealed the wand and completed its construction. As the laptop it was hooked up to reported a full charge, he disconnected the tangle of wires and cables from its diagnostic port, and closed the little hatch on the underside of its handle. He held it up in his hand, and then flipped the switch, allowing the inner core chamber to become active. Immediately the hexagonal grid of holes on the sides of the wand glowed with red light, as the vents on its underside emitted a similar crimson radiance. His hands felt warm, the heat radiating throughout his paws as he held the wand aloft. It was as if the air around him glowed, warming up and billowing in a storm of power around him. “… I’ve done it?!” He gasped, and then roared triumphantly. “I did it!” He grinned as he eagerly waved the wand with a swish. The resulting blast of blinding light slammed him into the wall of the basement, where he flattened a pile of cardboard boxes and then slid down the wall and landed on his butt on the concrete with an oof, moments before another tower of cardboard boxes and random debris toppled and fell atop his head. The wand dropped to the ground with a clatter. He reached forward and gingerly plucked off the ground, holding it at arm’s length with more caution as he rubbed his head and sore back. “… Well, it could use a few calibrations. Ow.” Chapter Four “And that will be all for today. Please finish extracting your transmuted samples from your test tubes and clean up your workstations. You’ll be graded on the purity of beryllium you produced. I’m not going to look at it with an electron microscope, but if you have chunks of lithium still in there it’s points off,” Hendelsworth said, tapping his wand against his shoulder as he paced the classroom, his white lab-coat fluttering behind him. The light switches by the door flicked themselves upwards, restoring the Alchemy lab to full brightness. Charlie slid the contents of his test tube into the collection vial, and sealed it tightly. He cleaned his workstation, making sure to go through the checklist of shutdown procedures, returning his station to a pristine state before removing his respirator and goggles. The students that had completed cleanup walked to the front of the classroom, sliding their vials onto the racks in the cart. Charlie approached after them, making sure his name was on his before sliding it in with the others. Hendelsworth clapped his hands together. “Excellent. Have a great weekend, everyone. For this Monday I’d like you all to turn in a thousand-word essay describing the law of equivalent exchange, with particular emphasis on aspects of alchemy and techniques that seem to bypass it but in actuality do not, with detail on why you believe that to be the case.” There were several collective groans from the students as they finished packing up. “Yeah yeah, none of that now, none of that,” Hendelsworth chuckled. “We’re not too far from midterms, so consider this your last major assignment before dead week. I’ll post the assignment details online.” The students now began to file out and exit the classroom. Charlie put his lab-coat on the hook, and went to the lockers in the adjacent storage room to retrieve his hoodie, which he pulled over himself and zipped up. He waited as the rest of the students departed, and then followed alongside Hendelsworth as the professor tugged his shabby overcoat on and grabbed his aged leather bag, the two of them exiting the classroom. “Excellent work today, Charlie. I didn’t have a chance to stop and look in detail, but you seem to’ve managed to produce beryllium without any lithium fragments. That’s better than most students at your level, quite honestly,” he said, as they walked down the halls together, and into the elevator. Hendelsworth casually waved his wand to the side, the button to the lobby pressing itself and lighting up. Charlie shrugged. “I study hard, or at least I try to,” he responded modestly. “Well, it’s certainly paying off,” Hendelsworth responded. The two of them stood quietly as the elevator descended. There was a clank, and then a whirring sound. Charlie glanced nervously at the sign taped to the back wall of the lift that read “No more than 6 persons at a time, please”. After a few moments of nothing but the awkward humming and whirring, Hendelsworth murmured, “What an old piece of shit.” “… They don’t really fund the magic department as well as they should,” Charlie said. “There’s those nice new maglev elevators at the engineering building. They don’t make any noise. From floor one to six in five seconds. Physics department likes to use ‘em to demonstrate acceleration force and scare freshmen.” “Must be nice,” Hendelsworth growled. “I swear, if I wasn’t afraid that this rickety thing would break if I tried, I’d use magic to push it a little faster.” The elevator doors finally opened at the first floor, and the two of them stepped out. They made their way past the first floor classrooms and vending machines before opening the main doors, whereupon a gust of cold wind hit them. Leaving the warmth of Arlin Hall, they stepped out onto the snowy grounds of the university’s campus. It didn’t usually snow in San Francisco, but 2020 was a crazier year in more ways than one. At least a foot of white powder covered the greens, all the walkways, and the rooftops of the university’s buildings. Many Californians, not exactly used to weather that might make a Dakotan laugh, drove slowly through the streets, red lights flashing at intersections as vehicles skidded and swearwords were exchanged. “Professor, I’ve got something that I’d like to talk to you about,” Charlie said as they trudged across the campus, Hendelsworth’s boots and Charlie’s ill-equipped Converses cutting jagged gashes in the snow in their wake, footprints blurring with the hundreds of other patterns on the compacted icy ground. “It has to do with channeling devices.” “Oh?” Hendelsworth turned toward him, looking up. Charlie at that moment realized how much time had passed. Being in his 40s, his professor had no further height to gain when they had met, but by this point Charlie had grown lankily to six feet, while Hendelsworth had remained at a shorter five foot ten. Hendelsworth looked puzzled. “… Funny. Last time I checked you had quite the grasp regarding channeling devices from the earlier classes I taught you. I don’t think there’s much more I know that you don’t.” “It’s not… about that aspect,” Charlie said delicately. “It’s more about the practical and logistical concerns. What if one were to construct their own wand instead of purchasing it from a licensed vendor?” Hendelsworth blinked, and then scoffed a little before laughing. “... Build your own wand. I suppose one would do that if they were especially talented, prideful, or worse, both. Generally most people have their channeling device license before even stepping foot in a shop. You already know of course, that Areum is a controlled substance.” “Yes sir, I do.” “You’d have to get licensed for a wand before you can even think about importing Areum,” Hendelsworth explained. “And of course, you won’t be able to build one without that.” “It may be a bit too late for that,” Charlie mumbled. “Come again?” Hendelsworth asked, looking at him with a bewildered expression. Charlie’s ears reddened and he motioned with a paw for them to walk closer after they had crossed the road, now at the side of J. Paul Leonard Library. Hendelsworth followed his student as the red panda dragged himself to the dumpster area against the south wall of the library building. “What is it?” the professor asked. Charlie swallowed, and then unzipped his hoodie, and drew out his wand. A silver, titanium channeling device with an ergonomic handle grip and red lights and energy vents sent into its design. He flicked the switch, causing the Red Matter chamber within to ignite. Hendelsworth blinked for a moment, but without missing a beat, held out his hand. “May I see it, Charlie?” Charlie hesitated, pausing for a brief moment on whether to do so, but he’d already shown him, and besides, Hendelsworth was the one person he would be able to trust. He gripped the wand by its handle and passed it to his professor. Hendelsworth’s expression changed from amused curiosity to alertness as he observed his student following proper magical wand handling safety practices, despite never having taught them in class. Hendelsworth gripped the wand in his hand, and then an expression of shock etched itself into the lines of his face. His eyes widened, and he looked to Charlie with a face of genuine surprise, something that he had never exhibited to his students in years. He opened his mouth as he pointed to the wand with his other hand, but no words came out. “… This is...” “Real,” Charlie said softly, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his hoodie. “You built this?” He said, stunned. “Yeah. Required me to work a lot making coffee and staying up into the early hours of the morning. Ate up all my free time and the time caffeine gave me,” Charlie said. “This is quite impressive,” Hendelsworth marveled. “… Forget my comment that people who made their own wands were vain or smart… though you clearly are a brilliant one.” He paused, and then flicked Charlie’s wand. An aluminum soda can on the ground nearby crushed itself, compacting into a tiny ball the size of a child’s glass play marble. The professor knelt down and picked it up, and then looked back at the wand, then to his student. “Fifteen inches. Titanium. And judging by what I felt, an exceptionally pure Areum core, and a massive one at that.” Charlie nodded. “.. How’d you obtain high-grade Red Matter, not to mention that much of it?” The two of them stood in silence for a few fleeting seconds. Charlie kicked his shoes against the snowy driveway and exhaled, muttering to himself before answering. He looked up, and reluctantly told the truth. “Almost six years ago. My mother...” “She really wanted me to be a wizard and she had brain cancer. She thought I could build my own wand, so I did,” Charlie said in low tones. “… She’d apparently been saving up for years to get it, and even when she was dying, she stuck with the plan. The disease was terminal anyways. The rest of the treatments would’ve just prolonged her suffering at best, so she used the money for them to pay for the Areum instead.” “That would certainly do it then,” Hendelsworth murmured sympathetically. “I’m so sorry, Charlie.” “Nothing to be sorry about,” he said, as his professor handed his wand back, and he pocketed it inside his hoodie. “If anything I should’ve been the one able to stop it if I became a wizard.” “Charlie, that is ridiculous and you know it,” Hendelsworth said sternly, placing his hand on Charlie’s shoulder and gripping it tight. “Don’t blame yourself for something that no one could’ve stopped or saw coming. Use logic. I know you know as well as I do that it would’ve been impossible at that age to construct a wand and learn everything necessary to save her. Just because it’s magic doesn’t mean it’s not still not brain surgery. I’d wager that even if she’d gotten magically enhanced treatments, it wouldn’t have done anything. To heal the brain one must know exactly how it works, and clearly, no one really does.” “Alright. I guess you’re right,” Charlie said finally, though his whiskers and ears twitched, as if not entirely allowing himself to believe it. The red panda turned the wand over in his hand. “… What about this, then? I’m not licensed and it’s illegal.” “You can still get licensed. You don’t have to tell them specific details that’d incriminate you further,” Hendelsworth said. “And honestly, it’s worth it to be on the right side of the law without worrying to hide it. They won’t confiscate it but they will require you to take classes and you’ll pay a fine, but after that you’ll…” Charlie’s ears perked. Hendelsworth smiled. “You’ll be a legally recognized wizard to go along with your degree.” “I’d definitely like to be able to use this thing. After all this time proving I could build one, I still don’t have the hands-on training to master a wand. Textbooks and the internet can only get you so far,” Charlie said. “… Well. We could get that process started. I’m free on Wednesday and Thursday afternoons,” Hendelsworth said. “Are you... going to tell anyone about the wand?” “Are you going to tell anyone that we’re having private lessons that you’re not paying for and are completely unsanctioned by the school?” Charlie smirked a little. “I won’t tell anyone if you won’t.” “Sounds like a deal. Don’t forget your paper due Monday,” Hendelsworth said, and with that he tipped the brim of an imaginary hat towards him before turning heading down the icy path to the campus green space. On Wednesday, Charlie skidded his motorcycle to a stop outside of an abandoned warehouse in South San Francisco, south of Brisbane and north of San Francisco International Airport. This region of the city, though it had its streets cleared and roadways rebuilt after the devastating Awakening Incident of the 1980s, was largely devoid of people and was the only district that had not been completely rebuilt. Further north, damaged and abandoned commercial office buildings loomed silently in the distance, seen from the rows of dilapidated warehouses by the bay. Many of the still-intact warehouses in the area were empty, waiting to be either bought or scheduled for demolition to make way for new development. Charlie turned off the bike’s engine and removed the keys, dismounting it. He swept his vision around his surroundings, and leaned against the wall to appear casual and to blend in. Graffiti adorned many of the decaying concrete walls nearby. An old Volkswagen beetle car rumbled as it approached and pulled into the loading dock where Charlie stood, grinding to a stop alongside his motorcycle. Hendelsworth scraped its door open, and stepped out, adjusting his overcoat. “There you are.” “There you are,” Charlie grinned a little. “So is there a reason we had to go all the way to this side of the city. Not exactly just a little out of the way.” “Well, we want more than just a little out of the way. I chose to come here to practice because it’s isolated. We’ve got a bit of privacy… and if something blows up, then the less people around, the better,” the professor said, climbing up the stairs to the access door off the side of the loading dock. He tapped his wand against the lock. There was a clicking sound as the pins inside rearranged themselves, moving into an unlocked position and allowing the bolt to disengage. The door swung open. “… Are we supposed to be here?” Charlie asked. “Technically no. But for the time being it’d a shame if it weren’t used. I happen to have picked that lock before and know what the key looks like, so to speak,” Hendelsworth tapped his wand against his hip. He and Charlie stepped into the gloomy and cavernous interior. As they walked, individual lights above them switched on, the lights behind them switching off while the ones before them turned on, creating a patch of illuminated ground that followed them as they proceeded deeper into the building. “… Power would’ve been cut a long time ago,” Charlie noted. “Exactly, which is why I’m energizing the lamps above our position. It’d be impossible to illuminate the entire warehouse. Maybe if you had a staff, but the Red Line limits the area of effect for even those,” Hendelsworth said, and then turned on his heel to face his student. “We’ll have enough light to see what we’re doing. Are you ready?” Charlie nodded. Hendelsworth raised his wand into the air above his head, and then suddenly, a bolt of what appeared to be lightning shot from one of the lamps and toward the tip of his wand. Charlie recoiled backwards, his eyes jolting open in shock. Hendelsworth looked back down towards Charlie and let the energy dissipate. “… Don’t look surprised. Think about it logically. That was magic, but what was the exact process that happened?” “You… well, you just sent a bolt of lightning coming down,” Charlie began slowly, and then as his nerves relaxed the gears in his head began to churn and spin. “Lightning is electricity. You generated it by ionizing gas atoms in the vicinity and polarizing them to positive and negative, giving them a charge. Once a significant charge built up, you used your wand to absorb the bolt and harness it, like a lightning rod.” “Very good,” Hendelsworth grinned. “… I’d give you a Fizzle Pop, but I don’t have any on me. Now, you give it a try. Remember, focus on what you’re doing. Clear your mind. See the molecules that you’re manipulating.” Charlie nodded, and drew his wand from his coat. He flipped the switch on, igniting it. Red light glowed from its ports. He held it aloft. “Charge ‘em up,” Hendelsworth encouraged. Charlie focused, and gripped the handle of his wand. Above him, blue sparks began to crackle. He shivered, his fur standing on end. “… C’mon, Charlie. Don’t be afraid. Give it a bit more of a kick.” Charlie nodded, and with more resolved, waved his wand. A bolt of lightning shot down from the ceiling, sparks flying and hitting the floor, exploding several light-bulbs nearby. Glass shattered and fell towards them, and Hendelsworth whipped his arm out, his wand’s tip glowing. The glass disintegrated into sandy dust as it fell, turning into harmless speckles on their clothes. Hendelsworth then pointed his wand at Charlie, a gentle gust of wind blowing the dust off his hoodie. “S-sorry,” Charlie said, tapping the side of his wand anxiously. “Not at all. You did great,” Hendelsworth beamed. “Though of course, you’ll get more precise and refined with practice.” “Let’s try it again.” Charlie nodded. They practiced, and predictably, Charlie’s magical manipulation became more finessed as the attempts went on. After the tenth or so attempt, Hendelsworth stopped him, and then raised his own wand to demonstrate. Charlie put away his wand. “Watch this.” He held aloft his wand a second time, and arcs of electricity steadily were generated and concentrated at the tip of his wand. However, as he did so, the noise they emitted as they shot downward from the ceiling shifted, changing tones. Hendelsworth softly hummed. “Do… re… mi… fa… so… la... ti…” He then dissipated the electricity by grounding it, and then spun on his heel back to Charlie. “So. What’d I do?” “Changed the frequency. You’re modulating the frequency of the spark output, and they’re creating human-audible sound waves as they shoot through the air,” Charlie gasped, looking up towards the ceiling and smiling, his tail thumping. “Resulting in a musical tone that can be pitched up and down.” “Right you are!” Hendelsworth swung his arm and snapped his fingers, while lowering his wand in his other hand. “That’s two I owe you.” “… I never really thought about doing something like this,” Charlie marveled, staring up as if the sparks were still there. He looked back down. “… Making music. That’s definitely not something that’s a part of the coursework.” Hendelsworth beamed. “… Of course not. I’ve almost taught you everything that I know. That is required by the curriculum, of course. There are other things that I’ve yet to teach you that are not quite standard. They don’t teach you to be dreamers. I’m not exactly a fan of standardized education, despite the cheap morning coffee from the breakroom saying otherwise.” “Fair enough.” “You can change the world, Charlie,” Hendelsworth said. “Magic can do a hell of a lot if you’re willing to imagine and not just read a textbook.” Charlie drew his wand again, and ignited it. He practiced with his professor, manipulating the sparks he generated to different frequencies. At first they all sounded similar, but with practice, he was able to produce all seven distinct notes, satisfying the professor. Hendelsworth looked to him. “What’s a song you like?” “Counting Stars, by One Republic,” Charlie reddened, as if slightly ashamed to admit the fact. He rubbed the back of his head. “It helps me study.” Hendelsworth laughed. “I’m surprised. Not a bad song. Do you know how to play it?” “Yeah,” Charlie nodded. “I took basic music classes throughout K-12 and played it several times with my mother on a keyboard. I know the notes. I don’t even need a sheet to play it on the piano.” “… Then this is just a different version of that. You understand how to change the notes. You’ve played the song before. You can play it again,” Hendelsworth said, and he walked from where he stood to approach his student, standing beside him. “How’s this. I’ll play the background beats and sounds, and you play the main tune. My wand’s smaller, made of pine with an impure core. It’s a hand-me-down. But yours… I imagine yours will have one hell of a punch and would be better suited.” “Let’s do it.” Charlie raised his wand, and so did Hendelsworth. Bolts of electricity shot from the ceiling rafters and metal support struts as if they were blasts from a Tesla coil. Electric-blue sparks began to show down around them as the song played, music being created from their magic. Charlie’s bolts thundered, their high pitched, musical bass and charged rhythm echoing throughout the empty warehouse. “Beautiful!” Hendelsworth roared. “Don’t stop now!” He grinned, as thunderous electrical arcs flashed around both of them. The warehouse was filled with white-blue light. The patterns of and frequency of the sparks from both of their wands was different, but together, they created the same song. Chapter Five “God damn it!” Tyler screeched as he tried to put out the fire raging atop the gas stove in their apartment, batting at it with a towel. The flames licked the wall behind the stove and began to creep against the other counters. Charlie skidded into the room, and snapped his head at the fire and then his panicking roommate. “Tyler! Don’t fan the flames, you’re just making it bigger!” “Right, right, sorry!” Tyler growled, and turned away, kneeling down and slamming open the sink cabinets. “I wasn’t thinking, dammit. Where’s the goddamn fire extinguisher?” Charlie went to go search for it, but then he stopped. Instead, he instinctively reached out his arm, praying that it would come. With a thunk, the wand laying atop of his desk in the nearby bedroom spun, flew off the table and through the open doorway, flying straight into the red panda’s outstretched hands. He closed his fingers around its handle, and pointed it determinedly at the fire. “C’mon, damn you…” “What’re you--” Tyler began, but then startled as he saw the fire atop of the stove coalesce into a sphere, the flames escaping the stove that were beginning to burn their surroundings now beginning to retreat into the ball. Charlie’s eyes widened in surprise himself as he held the wand aloft with one hand, and with the other, he clenched his fingers toward the fire, as if grasping something invisible. The fire seemed to solidify into a glowing orange orb. He lifted his wand, the orb lifting off of the burnt pan and floating gently toward him until it connected with the tip of his wand. He concentrated on it, and it shrank to the size of a golf ball, then a marble, and then small, glowing white bead. “Whoa…” Charlie leaned in, relaxed his arm and held his wand vertically, and then blew gently on the glowing fireball at the tip of his wand. It extinguished in a wisp of gray smoke. “... I think I found what I might wanna specialize in.” Category:Stories